


get drunk on the good life

by gasmsinc



Series: roses (or the blackhawks mob universe no one ever asked for) [5]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Anal Sex, Consensual Infidelity, Crossdressing, Daddy Kink, Feminization, M/M, Public Sex, Rimming, Tattoos, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 11:06:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18314177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gasmsinc/pseuds/gasmsinc
Summary: It’s a whole four days before Patrick’s ire wanes. It’s a Friday, and Jonny’s at the office, wrapping up a call with Mayor Smith when Patrick bursts through the door, hair a bit wild, eyes squinted in anger, an unfamiliar cat under one arm.Jonny tries to think of something that he’s done wrong in the past few hours, but there’s nothing sending alarm bells ringing. He’s been the perfect boyfriend. He even went out of his way to pet Deke this morning.“Sweetheart,” he says just as Patrick says, “youfucker.”





	get drunk on the good life

**Author's Note:**

> Since I will be extremely busy for the next four weeks, consider this a super, super, _super_ early birthday gift for my two great loves: Jackie, and Jonathan "Daddy" Toews.

Jonny turns forty on a quiet Monday at the end of April in the mob’s fifth floor hospital, Abby tutting at him as she digs a bullet out of his arm. Patrick is scowling from his chair, Stanley clutched in his arms like a lifeline. His face is puffy and red from where he’s been crying.

“It’s only a surface wound,” Jonny tries at the same time that Abby snorts.

“ _That_ ,” Abby says, effectively digging Jonny into a deeper hole, “is an inch away from a main artery.”

Jonny scowls.

“Why didn’t you just hand him your wallet?” Patrick asks, all snot. He’s being just a _bit_ overdramatic for Jonny’s liking, but Jonny knows better than to say anything. Instead, he gapes at such an offense. “And get mugged in _my_ city?”

“He shot you!”

“Only _after_ I knocked him to the ground.”

Patrick opens his mouth wide with shock, but Abby interrupts before he can get his probably extremely emotionally painful tirade started.

“Your arm’s going to be sore for a few days, but I’ll give you the good stuff to help. We can all go home now and hopefully get some rest.” She says the last part with a pointed stare at both of them, before she begins the long task of cleaning and sterilizing her equipment.

Jonny looks down at his arm, rolling his shoulders as a test. The pain is bearable; he's dealt with worse before. “I owe you one Abs.”

Abby dismisses him with a wave of her hand. “You know where I keep all the good stuff, go help yourself.” She looks very tired in the crisp, mechanical lights of the makeshift hospital. He should have gone to Mercy instead of calling her shortly before midnight to patch him up, but he trusts no other doctor but her.

Patrick stands up from his chair, collecting Stanley. “I’ll be waiting in the car.” He shuffles past without looking at Jonny, eyes still very red. Jonny tries to grab his hand, but Patrick shakes him loose, hiccuping a sob.

“Also?” Abby says when Patrick is gone. “You should have given that fucker your wallet.”

Jonny tries not to cringe as he tentatively pulls his shirt back on. “I wasn’t getting mugged in the city that I own.”

Abby lets out a soft breath. “I know you’ve been used to living for yourself these past couple of years, but whether you understand it or not, you’ve got a family now.”

Jonny doesn’t look at her as he buttons his shirt, feeling his ears going red at the telling off. “He knows the procedure.”

Abby sets down a scalpel forcefully, the noise vibrating throughout the room. “That’s not what I mean!”

Jonny’s fingers pause on a button. Abby sighs full bodily, cutting the distance short between them to cup his face in his hands, motherly. “You _have_ to think about Patrick now, you doofus. It’s not about following company policy if you were to get yourself killed over something as stupid as not handing an idiot your wallet. Imagine what it must be like for Patrick.”

“He knows—”

“He knows that you’re a mob boss who could be killed for your work, _not_ for being too arrogant to hand over your wallet in a mugging. Don’t get yourself killed over stupid shit and leave Patrick to deal with that grief.”

Jonny can’t form an answer, just hunches his shoulders despite the pain and carries on buttoning his shirt. He knows that Abby is right, but he hates to admit when he’s wrong, even to her.

Abby just sighs again, kissing his forehead, overly motherly. “Happy birthday you idiot, now go apologize to your boy.”

“Thanks,” Jonny says meekly, dressing as hastily as he can with his injured arm. Abby’s done cleaning by the time he’s dressed, so he escorts her to her car before he makes his way across the garage to his own.

Patrick's waiting in the car as promised, but it’s not even on. It’s the end of April and not warm yet, and he could catch a cold just sitting there in his pajamas with nothing but Stanley to keep him warm. He hadn’t even bothered to grab a jacket when Jonny had called him, but he had remembered to bring his uncertified therapy cat.

Jonny slides into the driver’s seat, glad that he was leaving the office when he was mugged and didn’t have to stain his all white seats. “Hey,” he says quietly.

Patrick doesn’t say anything. He shivers, tipping his head against the door.

Jonny starts the car to get the heat going. “I’m sorry.”

Patrick remains quiet, although his hands are stroking down Stanley’s back. Stanley gives Jonny a look that says she’ll never forgive him for upsetting her mother so much, and then promptly closes her eyes.

Jonny isn’t sure what to do in the moment, so he clutches at the steering wheel, feeling helpless. He runs a criminal organization and yet, he’s shit at being emotionally available. It comes with the job, he supposes, but it doesn’t come in handy when he’s trying to win his way back into Patrick’s good graces.

“You—” Patrick eventually says after the silence between them has jumped the line from uncomfortable and straight into 'I would shoot myself to escape this situation', “you can’t—” he takes a deep breath, staring forward as he speaks. “You can’t do stupid shit like that, Jonny. You could have _died_.” He finally looks at Jonny, big blue eyes wet with tears again. “What am I supposed to do if something happens to you?”

In case Jonny is killed in the line of duty, Patrick is supposed to find the closest safe house that they have scattered around the city, locate the duffel bag stuffed full of cash and one burner phone hidden under the floorboards, and then get on a bus and head to the Marriott in Rockford where he’s supposed to book a single queen room and wait for someone from the organization to call. From there, either Seabs or Duncs will collect him, and escort Patrick to another safe house until the organization can right itself again.

If no one calls within 24 hours, Patrick is supposed to take the cash and get on the first bus heading to Washington, where Ovechkin has promised him protection, as long as the amount of money Jonny’s provided in the duffel bag holds out. If no one comes to collect Patrick in Washington, and the money runs out, Patrick is at Ovechkin’s mercy. The eccentric Russian could either keep providing for him, or throw him out on the streets.

“ _Hopefully_ the last part won’t happen. Jonny’s had both Seabs and Sharpy swear to him that even if the organization doesn’t right itself, that immediately after they get their own families somewhere safe, one of them will come to get Patrick and take care of him until he can return to his own family, if he wants.

They practice this scenario every six months, and every time Patrick has followed it to a t. Sometimes no one calls and he goes straight to Washington, where Ovechkin and his boys welcome him with open arms until Jonny comes to collect him. Other times he’s picked up before he can even step on the bus. He knows where every safe house is is in Chicago, and never goes to the same one twice. He is proficient and methodical as he carries out his tasks, but Jonny doubts if the situation were to really happen, that Patrick would be so calm.

Or that he wouldn’t try and go back to get his beloved cats.

 _But_ , this plan _isn’t_ what Patrick’s talking about right now. He knows that Jonny’s set up as many routes of protection and means as he can to keep him safe and provided for if anything were to happen to him. He _knows_ that he has a home with Seabs or Sharpy or Duncs or even Hoss if he doesn’t feel like returning to his own family, and they’ll take care of him for as long as they can. What he doesn’t know is _how_ is he supposed to live his life _without_ Jonny.

“I don’t know,” Jonny says quietly, honestly, because he doesn’t know what he would do without Patrick. People experience great losses every single day and manage to continue on, but he thinks that if something were to happen to Patrick, that he would possibly follow right after from a broken heart.

“I know someone could take you out any moment,” Patrick says, voice weak. “I _know_. But there’s a difference between you dying because Kopitar shot you, and you getting killed because you were too much of an arrogant dick to hand a mugger your wallet.”

“I’m sorry,” Jonny repeats. “I wasn’t thinking about you.”

“Or _Stanley_ ,” Patrick adds, scratching under the cat’s chin to elicit a purr. “Or _any_ of our kids. How was I supposed to explain to them that their father was dead because he was a stupid dick?”

There’s a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, which means that Jonny hasn’t been forgiven, but he’s on his way there.

“I want to go home now,” Patrick announces, wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve. “I’ll decide if you're allowed in bed when we get home.”

The ride home is quick but silent. The cats swarm Patrick when they enter the penthouse, ignoring Jonny. He doubts that they would even notice if he died.

He heads straight for the bathroom, stripping out of his blood-stained clothes and turning the water to extremely hot before he jumps in the shower, stuffing his head under the spray to drown out any noise. He barely hears it when the shower door opens and closes, but he does feel it when Patrick’s arms wrap around his back, clinging tightly.

It only takes a few quick steps and some maneuvering to switch their positions, Jonny pinning Patrick up against the wall as he holds him tightly.

“Please don’t do anything stupid like that again,” Patrick begs, turning his head to kiss the scar at the corner of Jonny’s mouth, and the one on his shoulder, and his arm, and the ones scattering his chest too.

“I’m sorry,” Jonny says again, ducking his head to kiss Patrick’s mouth softly.

Patrick makes a soft noise, stuffing his face into Jonny’s neck.

 

\- - -

 

 

Patrick isn’t happy with him for the next few days, especially not when he grimaces every time his arm twinges in pain. Patrick won’t give him any sympathy because he doesn’t think that Jonny deserves it for being a grade A dumb asshole, but at least he doesn’t make Jonny sleep on the couch (not that Jonny would, with four guest rooms to spare).

It’s a whole four days before Patrick’s ire wanes. It’s a Friday, and Jonny’s at the office, wrapping up a call with Mayor Smith when Patrick bursts through the door, hair a bit wild, eyes squinted in anger, an unfamiliar cat under one arm.

Jonny tries to think of something that he’s done wrong in the past few hours, but there’s nothing sending alarm bells ringing. He’s been the perfect boyfriend. He even went out of his way to pet Deke this morning.

“Sweetheart,” he says just as Patrick says, “you _fucker_.”

“Let me take the cat,” says Dominik, Jonny’s newest secretary. He pries the cat out from under Patrick’s arm and then promptly shuts the door behind him.

“Darling,” Jonny tries, but Patrick’s nostrils are flaring.

“You!”

“I—”

“Was you getting mugged some elaborate plot to make me forget about your fortieth birthday!?”

Jonny blinks. Patrick had been too irritated with him to wish him happy birthday, and it’s not like they hadn’t celebrated quietly together the weekend before. “No?”

“I forgot about your birthday because I was so mad at you, and now I seem like a shitty boyfriend!”

 _Oh_. “Patrick it’s—”

“Domi!”

Dominik reappears when called, mysterious cat now mysteriously gone. “Ja?”

“We’re going out tonight to celebrate Jonny’s birthday, even though he doesn’t deserve it. Let everyone know.”

“Alles Gute zum Geburtstag,” Dominik says, even though he already wished Jonny a happy birthday on Monday.

“I don’t want to go out for my birthday,” says Jonny, meekly. The glare he receives from Patrick makes him want to crawl under his desk and hide for forever. “Club One sounds interesting.”

“You’re only saying that because you own it.”

“I can get you in for free.”

Patrick rolls his eyes. He can get it in free at any club that he wants. It’s no secret to anyone who’s important that he’s Jonny’s kept boy, and no one wants to be on the receiving end of Jonny’s ire, especially not ire caused by upsetting his boy. “Fine. Club One it is.” He leaves as quickly as he arrived, dragging Dominik with him.

Jonny watches them shuffle into the elevator, unable to feign even an ounce of irritation, not until the elevator doors shut and the mysterious cat starts meowing.

“What the fuck,” he says.

 

\- - -

 

 

Jonny’s allowed to go home and change after hours. Trevor’s an excited chatterbox the whole way to the penthouse. He’s never been inside of Club One before, despite the fact that he could easily get in, and even comes up to the penthouse to get ready.

“You’re guys. What do you need to do to get ready?”

“Don’t be an asshole,” says Trevor sweetly before he heads off in the direction of one of the guest rooms that Patrick’s commandeered as some sort of command post. Jonny could follow and find out what they’re up to, but he decides it’s probably better not to know and heads off to take a shower and change into a more casual suit for the night.

Neither Patrick nor Trevor are done preparing for the night by the time Jonny’s showered and dressed, so he pours himself a glass of scotch as he waits, and then another when the first one is done and there’s still no sign of his boyfriend or his friend. He’s just finished pouring a third glass when Patrick saunters into the living room.

Jonny chokes on his scotch. “You’re wearing _that_?”

“What’s the problem? You own the club, don’t you?”

Patrick’s in a skimpy little black halter dress, the velvet material barely covering his thighs. He’s got his lips and eyes done up all pretty, his curls tamed with some gel, but they’re falling prettily into his eyes. Even his nails are painted a pretty pink.

He glides across the room, stopping in front of Jonny to take his glass of scotch, setting it down on the bar before he takes a hold of Jonny’s collar, pretending to smooth it down. “Thought it would be okay to dress up for your club like this,” he gets on his tiptoes so his lips can drag across Jonny’s ear, “ _daddy_.”

Jonny wants to throw him over his shoulder and carry Patrick to their bedroom where he can bend him over in that little skimpy dress and fuck him until neither of them can see straight, but Trevor enters the living room, grinning, blocking Jonny’s way, a pair of red heels in hand. “Annie says to wear the red ones.”

Patrick pulls away from him, sauntering back over to Trevor to take the heels.

Jonny downs the rest of his scotch in one go.

“Trevor’s gonna crash here,” Patrick says, stepping into the heels that somehow manage to make his short legs look long. Jonny wants to drop to his knees and kiss his way up those legs until he can bury his head between Patrick’s thighs and eat him out until he’s shaking and can’t stand up anymore, but _Trevor_. “Can you call an Uber?”

“Yeah,” Jonny agrees, making no move to take his phone out of his pocket and order the car. Patrick is leaning forward, checking his lipstick in the hallway mirror.

“I’ll order it,” Trevor says helpfully, signature sweetheart grin on his face. He’s dressed nicely tonight, like he’s taking Patrick out on a date. Jonny narrows his eyes in suspicion, but stops when he remembers that it’s _Trevor_ ; he’s harmless and a gentleman. Even if he were to take Patrick out on a date, it wouldn’t amount to anything but them charging an outrageous amount of money on Jonny’s credit card.

Patrick finishes checking his makeup and leisurely strolls back over to Jonny, grinning like the Cheshire cat. He cups Jonny’s face in his soft hands, pouting. “Am I distracting you, daddy?”

“You’re a little shit,” Jonny says, fond, cupping a hand full of ass. “What do you think?” He loves Patrick all dressed up for him in heels and panties, little tits hanging out of a barely there babydoll outfit. It’s taking a lot of self-control not to bend him over the couch right now. “ _Slut_.”

Patrick pouts. “So mean, daddy.”

“The Uber’s here,” Trevor interrupts, voice just the bit strained. “I’ll just go wait in the car.” He exits quickly, probably glad to get out of the living room.

“Come on,” Patrick says, grinning as he takes Jonny’s wrist. Jonny follows obediently behind, willing to do _anything_ Patrick wants while he’s dressed like _that_.

Jonny takes a hold of Patrick’s wrist in the elevator, holding it in the loose ring of his fingers. Patrick—as far as he knows—has never left the apartment in a dress before. It’s safe in the penthouse, where everyone who’s allowed access loves and cares for him, and doesn’t bat an eyelash if they come to meet Jonny and find Patrick lounging in feminine clothes. Patrick’s usually in boy clothes, except for the times where he wants to drive Jonny crazy, or he just wants to be comfortable. “You gonna be okay?”

“I’m with you,” Patrick smiles, kissing the corner of Jonny’s mouth. He knows that Jonny will have every homophobe in Chicago hanged, drawn, and quartered if he could.

Jonny has a gun holstered to his hip under his jacket, a habit that never dies. One fucker says _anything_ to Patrick that upsets him, and he’s blowing their brains out.

There shouldn’t be any problems. Maybe the Uber driver, but if they want to get paid, they’ll be quiet. Jonny owns Club One, and he doesn’t expect it to be empty tonight, but it’s going to be full of their people, and no one is going to let some asshole upset Patrick, not at Jonny’s impromptu birthday celebration.

The Uber driver says nothing, just gruffly greets them. Jonny sits between Trevor and Patrick, holding loosely to Patrick’s wrist, watching the buildings go by as Trevor and Patrick chat away, seemingly about nothing.

Trevor gleefully jumps out of the car when they arrive, but Patrick hesitates for a moment, pulling his dress down to make it look longer.

“I’ve got you,” Jonny says, kissing the corner of his mouth before taking Patrick’s hand and dragging him from the car. Patrick stumbles, but he catches himself using Jonny’s shoulders. People are watching, but Jonny wraps an arm possessively around his waist, guiding him to the front of the line where people are waiting to get in, Trevor following obediently behind.

It’s loud in the building, immediately creating a low, annoying thrum at the back of Jonny’s head, but Patrick immediately perks up, grabbing Jonny’s wrist to drag him up the stairs to where the VIP lounge is. Jonny allows himself to be dragged, lifting his eyebrows as Patrick easily waves away the bouncers—factory lackeys, by the looks of it—like he owns the place.

Seabs and Sharpy are already lounging on the couches with Dayna and Abby, sipping on $1000 glasses of champagne. Patrick snags a glass after kissing Abby and Dayna hello, turning to Jonny with a grin.

This is supposed to be Jonny’s birthday celebration, but it’s slowly turning into Patrick’s night out on the town, and Jonny can’t give a shit. Patrick just looks so happy as he greets Dominik and Shawsy and Boller, hugging them before he hands his now empty glass to Sharpy and announces that he’s going to go dance, grabbing Trevor and Dominik’s hands, dragging them from the lounge to hit the dance floor, already knowing that there’s no point in asking Jonny because he knows that Jonny doesn’t dance.

Jonny grabs his own glass of champagne, settling on a couch. From the VIP lounge he can peer down at the dance floor, and the bar, and every corner of the room; he’s at a vantage point to see every single person in the club, but his eyes are pinpointed on Patrick. He’s sandwiched between Trevor and Dominik, dress hiked up his thighs to make it easier to dance, Dominik’s legs slotted between his, Trevor’s hand on his hip as he dances against his back. Jonny sips at his champagne, watching the three dance together, keeping an eye on them even though Hartzy is only a few feet away and could easily intervene if anyone tried anything.

Sharpy drops onto the couch next to him, wrapping an arm around Jonny’s shoulders, momentarily distracting him. “Happy birthday,” he says over the music, being an asshole and tapping Jonny on the arm where he’s injured. Jonny scowls, biting his lip to hide the pain. He hasn’t taken a painkiller since the early morning, and not even the three scotch or the champagne numbs the ache. He would be fine, as long as assholes like Sharpy stopped poking him. “You’re an asshole.”

Sharpy grins, clinking their glasses together. “Abby told me how you made our boy cry.”

Jonny downs the rest of his champagne, just so that he won’t have to talk to Sharpy. He knows that he was an idiot and didn’t have to make Patrick cry. He doesn’t need to be reminded at his birthday party.

“And to think, he went and got that tattoo for you.”

Jonny’s curiosity is immediately piqued. “What tattoo?”

“Oh,” purrs Sharpy, even over the pounding of the bass. “You haven’t seen it?”

Jonny’s eyes narrow, suspicious. He hasn’t seen Patrick naked in a few days, not since his birthday. He’s sure that he would have noticed a new tattoo, but then again, he hadn’t really been looking anywhere but at Patrick’s face while they had showered. “Where is it?”

Sharpy grins like a predator. “That’s for you to find out.” He claps Jonny on the back before extracting himself to grab Abby and go dance.

Jonny watches him go before looking over at the balcony, easily finding Patrick in the crowd. Trevor’s abandoned him to go dance with Hartzy, but Dominik is still with him. They’re having a good time, jumping around and screaming along to the music. Jonny squints, trying to make anything out, but it’s too dark and Patrick is moving too fast, and it’s not like he would be able to see anything anyways.

Getting through the thrum of people is the most irritating part of his night, but it’s easy to find Patrick in the crowd. All eyes are on him and Dominik, but Boller and Shawsy are nearby too, looking like they’re having the time of their lives, but Boller keeps looking over and nudging anyone who looks suspicious out of the way.

Jonny slots himself up behind Patrick, wrapping an arm around his waist and dragging him back. Patrick’s head rolls back, smile plastered to his face, unafraid because he knows that the only people who would be allowed to get this close to him are a part of the organization. “Hi!” he shouts over the music, lipstick smeared (it’s all over Dominik’s mouth, but Jonny doesn’t care—a little kissing with Dominik doesn’t mean anything, and it’s not like Jonny hasn’t watched them make out with each other before). “You gonna dance with me, daddy?”

Jonny grinds his pelvis against Patrick’s ass, tipping his head forward to speak against his ear, fingers working up Patrick’s thigh. “Where’s your tattoo?”

Patrick pauses before managing to turn himself in Jonny’s grip. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“You know better than to trust Sharpy with a secret.” Jonny works his hand up under Patrick’s dress, gliding his fingers over his inner thigh, not the least bit surprised to find that Patrick isn’t wearing any underwear. “Now, where is it?”

Patrick smirks, turning around to wrap his arms around Dominik’s shoulders. He whispers something in his ear before kissing him on the mouth. Jonny feels the familiar ting of arousal creeping up the back of his knees, his hands automatically going to Patrick’s hips. “Where’s Dominik spending the night?”

Patrick disentangles himself from Dominik, kissing his cheek before he shoves him in the direction of Seabs and Dayna. “With us, but I thought you wanted to see my tattoo?” He grabs Jonny’s hand, dragging him in the direction of the nearest exit.

The fire alarm remarkably doesn’t go off when they stumble out of a back door and into the alleyway. Jonny only has a second to make a note to get that problem sorted before Patrick has him up against the wall, thigh shoved up between his, little black dress ridden up.

Jonny grins against Patrick’s mouth, both hands firmly grasping his ass. “Desperate slut.”

Patrick moans, grinding against Jonny’s thigh. “I love it when you call me sweet things, daddy.”

Jonny can’t help but snort, taking Patrick’s leg and hitching it up around his hip. “Thought you were going to show me your tattoo?”

Patrick pulls back, licking his lips. He smiles, all pretty white teeth before he reaches between them, taking the edge of his too short dress and raking it further up his thigh, high enough to reveal his hardening cock and balls, ass hanging out in the cold air, but Jonny is too distracted by the delicate black writing on his inner thigh to comment. Jonny licks his thumb quickly, pulling it over the tattoo, expecting for it to smudge, but _daddy’s little girl_ is etched permanently into his pale skin, written in cursive. “Sharpy said to get it on my wrist, but I thought this was a better place.”

“ _Jesus christ_ ,” Jonny curses, running his thumb over the ink again, mesmerized.

“Thought you would do more than just touch it.”

Jonny lifts his eyes from the tattoo. Patrick is looking at him expectedly, blue eyes dialated black with want. Jonny gives him one beat to catch his breath, and then he’s spinning Patrick around, pinning him up against the wall. He drops to his knees, hiking Patrick’s leg up over this thigh, pushing his dress up onto his hips, not caring who sees them.

Patrick gasps at the first brush of Jonny’s tongue against his skin. He hesitates for a moment, and then his fingers are in Jonny’s hair, tugging as Jonny bites and licks at the skin of his thigh obsessively before he moves lower, nudging at Patrick’s balls with his nose as he teases at his rim with his tongue. Jonny moans, hungry for Patrick, pushing his tongue in as deep as he can get it at this angle, loving the thrill of Patrick being half naked in an alleyway, exposed like a cheap whore.

“ _Jonny_ ,” Patrick moans, trying to ride Jonny’s face, but the angle is all wrong. He whines, thighs shaking. “ _Please_.”

Jonny pulls his tongue out, giving Patrick’s rim a few quick licks before he pulls away, trailing his tongue up Patrick’s balls and then up the underside of his cock until he can suck the head into his mouth. Patrick whines, head thrown back against the wall, fingers still tugging at Jonny’s hair as Jonny bobs his head, moaning around Patrick’s cock.

He pulls off when Patrick starts to make high pitched noises in the back of his throat, a tell-all sign that he’s close. “Where’d you hide the lube?”

Patrick flutters his eyelashes. “Who said that I brought lube?”

Jonny lifts his eyebrows. Patrick rolls his eyes and and pulls at the top of his dress, reaching in to pull a small pack of lube from his bra.

“This is supposed to be my birthday party,” Jonny says conversationally, taking the lube and tearing it open with his teeth before he smears the lube all over his fingers, “and yet, you’re the one about to get the fuck of their life in a back alley.”

“Don’t act like my pussy isn’t the best birthday present you ever received,” Patrick says, hitching his leg up so Jonny has better access to his hole. Jonny rolls his eyes fondly, tracing Patrick’s rim with the pad of his finger before he pushes said finger in, covering Patrick’s mouth with his own to stifle his moans.

Patrick groans into his mouth, sucking on Jonny’s tongue as Jonny works one finger in and then a second, working him open.

It only takes a minute before Patrick is whining and fucking himself desperately on Jonny’s fingers. “Come on,” he grits. “ _Fuck me_."

Jonny doesn’t have to be told twice. He slips his fingers free, using the little lube they have left to cover his cock. “Up,” he commands, cupping the back of Patrick’s thighs despite the sharp stab of pain his arm gives as he lifts, Patrick getting his intentions immediately and meeting him halfway until his legs are wrapped around Jonny’s waist, lifted high against the stone wall. There’s going to be scratches on Patrick’s ass come morning that he’ll complain about for weeks, but that doesn’t stop him from reaching between them, making quick work of Jonny’s belt and even quicker work of his zip and boxer briefs, freeing Jonny’s cock just enough to fuck him.

Jonny lifts him just a bit higher, until the head of his cock is bumping against Patrick’s rim. He lets Patrick cup his face, kissing him as he slowly pushes in, sharing the same breath as Jonny slowly sinks in to the hilt, gravity doing most of the work. He gives Patrick a moment to breathe, to relax against the wall and catch his breath, before he pulls out and tentatively fucks back in, feeling the strain in his arms but loving every second of it.

Patrick moans, helpless to do anything but let Jonny fuck into him and clutch at his shoulders. Jonny can’t get too deep like this, can only fuck into Patrick’s body in short thrusts, in out, in out, balls drawn up tight, mouth plastered to Patrick’s neck right above the neckline of the halter, sucking an angry bruise into his skin.

“Wish I could see your tits,” he says, kissing down Patrick’s throat to bite his nipple through the thin material of his dress, managing to tug at the ring there.

“At home,” Patrick promises, kicking his heels into Jonny’s back, trying to roll his hips down to meet his thrusts, moans breathless. “You can suck my tits all you want when we’re home, now _fuck me_.”

Jonny grins, lifting Patrick higher, mouth going back to bite at Patrick’s nipples through his dress, pulling out slowly and then working back in, uncaring that they’re in an _alley_ and anyone could walk out and see them. It wouldn’t matter to Jonny if they were caught; he would look the person dead in the eye and continue to fuck Patrick anyway.

He could always get rid of the eye witness later.

Annoyance spikes angrily down his back when Patrick makes a move to reach between them and take ahold of his cock, aghast that Patrick would even _dare_ to come with a hand around is dick while Jonny’s cock is in his ass. He steps back, letting the wall take most of Patrick’s weight, hands firm on his hips, and then thrusts out and thrusts back in, the noise of his pelvis against Patrick’s ass vibrating through the alleyway. He starts a fast rhythm, grinning as Patrick’s mouth falls open, head thrown back, helpless. He can do nothing but tighten his legs around Jonny and take the pleasure he gives him.

“Fucking _slut_ ,” Jonny purrs, licking under Patrick’s chin, emphasizing his words with a sharp stab of his hips. “Getting your pussy fucked in an alley like a cheap hooker.”

“’m not cheap,” Patrick tries between thrusts. “Cost you twenty-five hundred for this pussy.”

Jonny raises his eyebrows, feeling his balls tightening, orgasm creeping up the back of his thighs, arm aching.

“Two thousand for the dress,” Patrick explains, eyes rolling back, tightening up around Jonny’s cock. “Five hundred for the tattoo.”

Jonny glances down at Patrick’s thigh, the tattoo somehow so bright against his pale skin, even in the scarce light coming from the one streetlamp in the alley. It drives Jonny crazy just to look at it, just to see the mark of possession all over Patrick’s pretty, slutty, little thigh, already getting dark from a bruise Jonny sucked there. He lifts his eyes, grinning at Patrick. “Should have made it say ‘daddy’s little slut’,” he says, and then he’s thrusting away into Patrick with no rhyme or reason, fucking and fucking even as his knees start to shake.

“Daddy’s little _slut_ ,” and then Patrick comes between them with a bitten-off scream, whole body going tight as he comes wet and messy, staining his expensive dress. Jonny curses, managing to get in a few more thrusts before he comes too, emptying himself into Patrick’s fucked open body.

He kisses Patrick, swallowing his weak little moans as he pulls out. “I’m going to put you down now,” he murmurs, doing just that, letting Patrick settle down weakly on his bare feet. His heels are on the ground behind Jonny; he hadn’t even noticed when they’d fallen off.

Jonny tucks himself back into his pants, zipping himself up before adjusting his belt. His come is slowly leaking down Patrick’s thighs, and for the first time since they started dating, he wishes that he had worn a condom, just to save them the mess. He shrugs off his suit jacket, using a sleeve to wipe away the stain on Patrick’s dress, and then the other to wipe his come from between Patrick’s thighs, stopping momentarily to kiss the tattoo before he gently pulls down his dress.

He kneels, reaching behind himself to grab Patrick’s heels. He kisses Patrick’s ankle as he helps him back into one shoe and then another, leaning into Patrick’s hand as he brushes his fingers against his cheek. “Your bleeding.”

Jonny glances at his arm. There’s a bright red blotch on his white shirt. The euphoria from his orgasm had dulled the pain, but now he can feel a deep ache. He probably tore a stitch. “I’m fine.” He stands, grasping Patrick’s chin to force him into a kiss.

Patrick lets Jonny kiss him, pliant and easy. “Are you going to take me home?” he asks, fingers skimming over Jonny’s chest, and then down his waist, skimming over the gun halter, now askew from where Patrick’s legs had been resting. Jonny adjusts himself, kissing Patrick’s throat gently.

“I guess,” Jonny says, giving Patrick’s dress one last tug as Patrick slaps him meanly on his good shoulder. “Who else are we bringing home?” He takes Patrick’s hand, leading him back towards the club.

“Trevor’s probably going to go home with Hartzy,” Patrick says conversationally as Jonny props the back door open. “Dominik promised to make out with me and not get weird about it if you jerked off to us in exchange for three weeks of PTO.”

“We’ve already done that.”

Patrick shrugs, taking the lead down the hallway back towards the main part of the club, the music growing louder. “You’ve already agreed to the PTO, no matter if you jerk off or not.”

Jonny gives a full body sigh, allowing himself to be dragged back onto the dance floor.


End file.
